Hunter Not Hunted
by slylingual
Summary: Bullet guided her team by seeing what others couldn't, but was it really a gift?
1. Witchy Woman

"Get my six," Nick ordered, heading towards the trailer across the open path. Coach took to the left, his shotgun perched at his hip; Rochelle took slow side-strides at Nick's right side, her eyes peering down her pistol. I completed the diamond formation, taking careful steps backwards, my finger ready on the trigger of my AR-15 as I watched for any Infected that would sneak up behind us.

"Witch," Coach's hoarse whisper broke the heavy silence, followed by the low humming of crying in the distance. We all darted our heads 9 o'clock to find a petite, shriveled figure, her hair draping over her eyes. Rochelle warned us to make sure our lights were off, and we all took a second to double-check.

As if on cue, a shrill scream cracked through the air, getting the attention of the other witches that littered the deserted ground. We had no choice but to spray our weapons and make a run from the crippling glowing orbs that targeted us in every direction. Like banshees they screeched, and like scavengers they clawed at us, dropping to the ground with every gunshot that rang, nearly deafening us by the second.

I tripped, falling backwards and shooting a stray into the air. The witch in front of me diverted towards the others who were almost at the trailer. Without a second thought, I hip-fired, and she dropped to the ground next to me.

"Aren't you lucky?" Rochelle said in shock, rushing over to help me up. Coach and Nick both called for us to hurry to the trailer. I slammed shut the door behind me, and we all rushed the table of medkits, signifying trudging on from here was going to prove to be more difficult than the horde of witches.

"We're trapped," Rochelle said, following suit as Nick stared out the back window, presumably trying to devise a plan.

"I'm thinking we need to go through that building," Nick noted, pointing at the shell of a structure eternally in progress.

As I stood there, reloading my rifle, I clenched my eyes shut when a bright light flashed in my head. It was as if I was seeing through the eyes of someone else who had been in there. The view was that of a foggy black-and-white memory with a sort of motion blur on the outer edges. My view moved with ease from the floors to the stairs to the roof of the structure.

"There's a makeshift elevator in there," I shook the thoughts away, "Top floor. It'll take us out back to the cornfield." The others slowly looked over at me if I was crazy.

"The building's not even finished. How do you know there's an elevator?" Rochelle asked matter-of-factly, propping a hand on her hip.

"And, if there was," Nick spoke up, glancing at Rochelle in agreed skepticism, "How would you know it was left on the top floor?"

Coach put up a finger to chime in, "And a cornfield?"

I froze under the glare of their narrowed eyes. I couldn't tell them about these visions. "The builders had to have built a makeshift elevator to haul materials between floors," I answered Rochelle. I turned my attention to Nick, "And if the infected swarmed the building, the people inside would have gone to the topmost floor to get away." The two shrugged with understanding as I flatly looked at Coach. "And you can see the cornfield from here," I motioned out the window. The others chuckled.

"Smartass," Coach mumbled under his breath.

"Well," Nick said, satisfied with my answer, "You heard the girl. Make sure you're all patched up 'cause we gotta make it to that top floor."

Though it was a silent agreement that we all were to follow each other, I wandered off, mesmerized that I saw this building in my head just as it was laid out in front of me. I quietly crept over to the stairs where I remembered it being. I tilted my head up, my eyes following its steps to the top where I saw a hooded figure.

Suddenly the wind was knocked out of me as the creature pounced, knocking my rifle out of my hands and pinning me to the ground. It brought up its claws, but stopped. I stared up at it in terror when a light pierced in front of my eyes. The vision was blurry, but I swear I could see my own self trembling with fear in some sort of distorted lucid dream.

"Hunter!" I screamed, snapping out of it. The hunter immediately got off me and leapt back to the top of the stairs. I stood, quickly snatching up my rifle and turning to aim towards where I saw the creature as the others rushed over, but it was gone.

"Where is it?" Nick said, darting around his rifle.

"I don't see a goddamn Hunter," Rochelle noted sassily.

I lowered my rifle, "I thought I saw one." I blinked away the feeling of guilt for lying to my group.

"Top floor," Nick remindingly announced to everyone, before his eyes landed on me, "And get your head out of your ass, and stick together."


	2. The Hunger Game

_I'm so hungry. I walked the streets, every day draining the life from me. We needed to be saved. I'm so hungry. My feet were dragging, and my sight blurred. I was dying from the starvation. I'm so hungry._

"You okay, Bullet?" a hushed deep voice started me from my sleep. My head shot up to find Coach standing over me, gently rustling me awake, holding a shotgun at his side in his other hand. We were all staying at a Safe House for the night, and Coach must have heard me from the couch down the hall. He laughed, "I coulda sworn there was an Infected in here, but it was just you having a nightmare."

I tensed my cheeks with a forced smile. "I'm fine," I nodded towards the doorway, "Lock my door on the way out?"

As soon as I heard his heavy thuds disappear down the hall, I jumped out of bed and grabbed my black sweater, zipping it up and throwing the hood over my head. I groaned at the latch and padlock on the window. I gripped it into my hands, and, with all of my strength, yanked until the latch screw released from the window sill. I steadied my breathing and looked over my shoulder, cautiously staring at my door in hopes no one heard me and came running. After a silent minute, I slid open the glass and crouched onto the window sill. I took one last glance at the room behind me and leapt to the roof of the next building.

I went from building to building and fire escape to fire escape when my sight landed on a small horde forming around the front of a corner convenience store. I swiftly landed onto the parking lot cement, nearly breaking my stiff back just to stand upright again.

"Hey!" I pounded on the back door, pulling the hood off my head. "Hey, is someone in there?" I whipped out my pistol and shot a couple of Infected who'd noticed me and started coming towards the door, my feet drenched in Spitter goo. The back door opened a crack, and I could see a cautious eye looking me up and down. "Please let me in," I begged, turning around and shooting another one as it rounded the corner.

The person stepped aside and pushed the door open for me. I grabbed the door and slammed it shut, locking it. There was the frazzled store owner, who sank back, looking as if he'd been here for weeks living off of his own food supply. "This was a good place to bunker down," I marveled at all the empty bags of chips and candy wrappers in scattered piles around the room. "I'm Bullet," I held out my hand.

The middle-aged man placed his shaky hand in mine. "R- Robert," he said, his full white mustache bouncing with every syllable. "Take whatever you want," he said, cowering as he backed away, eyeing my gun, "But there's not much left."

I peaked out into the store to see how much of it had been looted by other survivors. "I'm not here to rob you," my face turned into that of worry, wondering how many times this terrified shriveled old man had probably been held at gun point since this whole thing started.

Robert and I sat there on the floor of that back room as he told me about his wife calling to tell him these monsters were trying to get into their little mobile home. "I could still remember her screaming," his said, his eyes glazing over with tears as he took a minute to stifle the weeping. My brows furrowed at the poor man, working alone at night, past retirement to keep a roof over him and his wife.

My fingers clenched into fists as my eyes rolled back. The ceiling fan flimsily spinning above us turned into flashes of light that throbbed through my head. Everything was black and white, my vision wisping away at the borders. I was on top of the roof of a mobile home and could see a plump, middle-aged woman through the kitchen window of the adjacent house. The Infected ravaged the mobile home park, feasting on the helpless retired community. The horrified woman with a head of white puffy hair was on the phone, clutching her tightened chest, sobbing as she helplessly slid to the linoleum floor. I averted my attention to the other end of the neighborhood when a Jockey cackled an echoing laugh in the distance. Glass shattered, and I looked back at the mobile home just in time to find the Infected swarming the old lady's body, blood spattering through the air. I let out an angry growl; that was supposed to be my kill.

"Bullet?" the old man spoke up, noting my growl and looking at me in concern from the opposite side of the room. The vision dissipated, and I unclenched my fists, my white knuckles unfolding to expose bloodied nail marks in my palm. "Are you okay?" he asked, wiping the tears that trickled down his wrinkly skin during the sob story.

"I'm so hungry," I said, clutching my rumbling stomach, a slight twinge of anger still residing in my thoughts. He stood up, rambling about his manners and mentioning the dwindling supply of food on the shelves that I was more than welcome to eat. I hopped up in a squat, steadying myself with my hands on the floor, my eyes narrowing and zoning in on my prey as I watched him turn his back on me to walk towards the sales floor. I slowly pulled the hood back over my head and watched his slow, shriveled figure.

I was so hungry.


End file.
